America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 12 The Unexpected Surprise

"Do you know why they're here?!" Tom roared at the terrified immigrants below, standing on the wagon's side.

The European immigrants in the camp, who had witnessed the bloody scene, were already pale with fright.

They couldn't understand English, and could only feel the extreme fear from the gunshots, the corpses, and Tom's roars. Their eyes were filled with panic and utter bewilderment.

"You!" Tom's gun suddenly pointed at Joseph. "Translate it for them! Not a single word is missed! And learn the tone perfectly!" His icy gaze cut Joseph like a knife. "Remember, my gun barrel is still warm!"

Joseph swallowed hard, his throat went dry, and he roared at the top of his lungs.

Tom then nodded slightly.

"They're going to rob you of everything! And ruin your women! Don't you hate them?" Tom's voice was laced with inflammatory fire.

As soon as Joseph finished translating, the immigrant group erupted in a thunderous barrage of angry curses mixed with their native languages!

"Now listen up, all of you!" Tom's voice cut through the commotion. "These bastards died in our camp! Their cronies will find out sooner or later! Guess what they'll do? Revenge! Frenzied revenge! They'll wipe you all out! What do you say we do?!"

"Kill all those sons of bitches!"

"Send them back to hell!"

"Protect our homes! Protect our children!"

Through Joseph's hurried translation, Tom listened to these spirited replies, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. Good, not a flock of sheep to be slaughtered.

"Shouting won't do any good! And you can't just sit here and get stabbed!" Tom's voice was resolute. "Want to live? Want to protect your family? Then you have to learn to ride a horse! Learn to shoot from horseback! Only then will you have a chance to put a bullet in their skulls when those mad dogs pounce! The sooner you learn, the greater your chances of survival!"

Upon hearing that they would be learning to ride horses, the immigrants immediately erupted in discussion, their faces filled with worry and unease.

Tom ignored him. He had helped those he could; the choice was theirs. That was all he could do.

"Joseph!" Tom jumped off the carriage. "Take a few men and drag these bodies away to bury them! Dig a deep pit! Bury them tightly! Clean up the blood on the ground, leave no trace!" His tone left no room for argument.

Joseph nodded hurriedly and immediately called for help.

Tom hoisted the pistol from its holster, the money already tucked into his pocket, and weighed his early morning "harvest" with satisfaction.

As soon as he turned around, he felt several burning gazes like nails piercing his back.

When he turned around, he saw his mother Margaret, his aunt Claire, and Mary standing in a line, staring intently at him with complex and unreadable expressions.

"Hiss..." Tom gasped, his eyes darting around, then he suddenly clutched his forehead. "Ouch! Why am I so dizzy so early in the morning? No, no, I must not have woken up properly. I need to go back to bed and lie down for a while!"

Before he finished speaking, he slipped away and darted back into his tent, his movements so fast that only a blur remained.

As soon as Tom crawled into the tent, he met a pair of bright little eyes that sparkled in the dim light.

"Tom! I won!" John whispered, his voice brimming with barely concealed excitement.

"Well, you won." Tom smirked. "You can put your hands down now. Go outside, Margaret made venison stew, that's your reward!"

John immediately let go of his hands covering his ears and, like a startled rabbit, darted away from Tom and disappeared outside the tent flap in the blink of an eye.

Tom threw himself into his bedding roll, and as soon as he closed his eyes, a picture clearly appeared in his mind: Little John rushing towards Margaret like a cannonball, his mother smiling as she bent down and scooped him up in her arms.

Immediately afterwards, the scene shifts to Margaret, Claire, and Mary holding little John, as they gather around the large, steaming iron pot.

The venison in the pot simmered in the broth, the fat glistening and the lean meat a deep reddish-brown, the rich aroma seemingly wafting through one's mind! Tom abruptly shook his head, and the image shattered and vanished, leaving everything outside the tent in darkness and silence once more.

"...Damn it, what kind of ability is this?"

He tried again five or six times with his eyes closed and his mind focused, but apart from that brief "spiritual vision" just now, he still couldn't grasp the source of this ability.

But one thing he was absolutely certain of was that this ability was genuinely affecting him.

For example, even with his back to the tent flap, he could clearly "see" or, more precisely, "sense" that a few steps away outside the flap, Joseph was leading a group of people dragging a heavy corpse past.

The image was projected directly into his consciousness like a brand.

Caught between contemplation and exhaustion, Tom drifted off to sleep. Perhaps the life-or-death confrontation had drained his strength, or perhaps pondering that strange ability had taken a toll on his mind.

When I opened my eyes again, I was awakened by a loud "gurgling" sound from my stomach.

I woke up from hunger.

He crawled out of the tent. The camp looked no different from usual; the area where the gunfight had taken place had been carefully cleaned up, even the bloodstains had been washed away.

If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't know that several people had recently died here.

But... the way the people in the camp looked at him changed.

Those gazes were no longer simply looking at a boy; they contained so much more: awe, distance, and even... a hint of barely concealed fear.

Fear? Fear of a sixteen-year-old kid? Tom scoffed inwardly, shook his head, and didn't bother to investigate further.

The aroma of food lured him like a hook, drawing him straight to the steaming iron pot next to his mother's tent.

"Awake?" When Margaret saw him coming over, she immediately got up, grabbed a large ladle, and deftly ladled out a large bowl full of glistening venison, handing it to him.

"It smells amazing! I could smell it from far away. It's definitely Mom's cooking!" Tom took a deep breath and praised sincerely.

He turned and ran to his own wagon, quickly pouring two glasses of amber-colored whiskey.

A glass was placed steadily beside Margaret.

"Hmm, not bad." Margaret took a sip, the spicy liquid sliding down her throat, a warm sensation spreading, and a satisfied smile appeared on her face.

She appreciated her son's thoughtfulness.

"Whatever makes you happy!" Tom grinned, picked up a piece of venison with alternating layers of fat and lean meat from the bowl, and opened his mouth to take a bite.

"Ah—!"

A familiar and high-pitched bray suddenly rang out!

Tom paused, then looked up abruptly and yelled at the source of the voice, "Loach! You won't get any! And forget about the drinks!" The loach ignored him, swishing its tail and stiffening its neck, continuing to protest with a powerful "Ah! Ah!"

"Look over there," Margaret gestured toward the river.

Tom followed his mother's gaze and saw several unfamiliar horses strolling along the riverbank. Their coats were glossy, and they were clearly fine animals. "Where did these horses come from?" Tom asked, puzzled.

Margaret lowered her voice: "Mudskipper brought them back. I reckon they were the horses left behind by those 'guests.' The saddles were all taken off and put in the cart. This stubborn donkey wouldn't let the horses go far, so it's been circling them by the river."

"The loach came back?" Tom was so surprised he almost dropped the meat he was holding.

Is this donkey possessed by a spirit?

Just then, a huge commotion suddenly erupted from the other side of the camp!